#last chapter

“It's different when you say we have only been together for months when it had been years… it makes me think it isn't that important for you as it was for me, i know Yuki was playing, but still-” his voice whiny, but now with more weight, “i didn't realise it was that important for you, sorry Cho” you said as you took a seat at his side, caressing his cheek with your thumb, “our relationship is more meaningful to be reduced by just months, don't you think?” he asked you with those cute puppy eyes.

His fingers caressed and traced random figures on your thigh, pulling you closer when he saw you staring at his lips, “i don't want to introduce you with ‘oh yeah, she's my future wife but we've only been together 2 days” and this time you actually laughed throwing your head back “oh my-, Choso you're so dramatic… that won't happen if you don't break up with me again” his brows instantly furrowing as he shook his head “never, i'm serious, i will never, we have to buy a house, a big one, get married and have 3 kids, and live together for the rest of our lives” you couldn't hide the surprise as you felt the heat on your cheeks.

You never talked about it before, but it didn't bother you the idea of forming a family with him, it was too obvious he wanted a family like the one he grew up with, you nodded while laughing “okay, let's keep it from where we left it, we'll be close to 3 years, right?” you laughed softly when you saw him visibly perk up and nod happily, maybe you could see a tail swishing in excitement.

His body melting on yours when you finally kissed him, his hand traveling from your thigh to your ass, giving a small smack for you to jump on him, squeezing the meat of your butt when you sat above him, his other hand traveling to the center of your back, a small breathy moan scape from your lips when you broke the kiss, your fingers tangled on his hair, it was Choso's turn to leave out a moan, a loud one when you pulled his hair “ye-es, do that again” he begged.

You constantly shared your spot on the large window of the living room, while he worked on new songs and the concepts for the next comeback, you did some more arrangements for the movie you were working on, or you just wasted your time on your new hobby your hyperfixated on.

Choso's schedule also changed, he didn't come back home late anymore, but it was inevitable to get involved when he let you listen to some fragments of the songs or told you about his ideas, it wasn't your fault the ideas rushed strong like a river in your mind and Choso got excited for you to work with him again.

For a moment you considered coming back to that industry, but it wasn't your path and you suspected being part of the production with his band was a factor to the fall down of your relationship. You didn't want to push your luck when it already came out wrong one time.

Contrary to what the company said, the band still had a lot of fans and everything that came out, even if it was just an ad, the videos had millions of views in a couple of minutes.

Their fame kept rising, and surprisingly you barely saw hate comments about them or their relationships, you knew it was mostly because the company got a team to erase that bad side but also because the fans started to understand they weren't just products they could treat like rag dolls.

Most of them also got softened by Toji as a dad and even if he didn't say it, he was proud of it.

The band also showed a most vulnerable and human side to the fans when they started with the promotions of their comeback. Choso told you you would like them, but to be honest it was the weirdest and most failed promotion you ever saw in your life.

Yuki went to a hot spring to ‘relax’ and ‘promote’ with an old woman that run the place, enjoying their time on the warm water as they talked for hours about everything and anything at all, even mentioning Yuki's failed relationship, the staff shyly told them they spent 3 hours talking but never mentioned the album or something about Yuki's career.

They had a great time laughing about it, but still didn't talk about the comeback.

Toji went to a skate place, skating and doing tricks recalling his teenage era. The people instantly flowed to him asking to do some tricks again or to show them how they could be braver and try to be as bold as Toji.

He just mentioned the album at the end of the video when he got tired enough to decide to finally go.

Sukuna went to sparring in a small gym, you didn't know he knew martial arts and boxing, and if you were ‘cautious’ of him on a normal day, with that ‘promotional’ video you confirmed your theory he was a scary man.

Surprisingly he was the one that talked the most about the album with the people he was training with, mentioning what the album was about, when they will release it, and how many songs the album had.

Choso decided to do the video by his own while cooking, he was supposed to talk about the production and the lyrics of the songs since he was the one that was most involved and the principal producer of the band, but instead he got too into the recipe he picked, explaining on detail on why he chose that meal to cook, giving more tips for it to be more tasty and even how to introduce yourself on the kitchen. He talked like a professional chef.

The videos caused a lot of funny responses from the fans and the media.

But you decided not to get too comfortable with it, and even less with the apps of the social media, putting distance and even a timer for those apps, not letting it consume you again like before. Either the reactions were bad or good, you decided you wouldn't give them more attention.

Choso also agreed to not let it affect him, not paying attention when the people tried to ship him with Yuki again, nor caring when they asked about the ‘mysterious’ girl that kissed him backstage and if it was the same girl he had plenty of dates at night. It was pretty obvious now for the people that he was happily into a relationship but he wanted to keep it private, not secret, just private.

The only thing that still made him make a move, was when the people asked for you with Satoru, he was more trusting and told you about the insecurities he had, every time the people ask about ‘your ship’ with the actor. But couldn't control himself when some account posted an edit or a photo of you with the white haired, wondering where you were.

Instantly posting 10 (or more) photos on his official account of the pictures he took on the dates you had. A photo of the food you ate, slightly showing the necklace he gave you on your first anniversary, your shadows and a bouquet, or you trying different shades of lipstick on his hand.

Or maybe a photo of your holding hands, with a ring on your ring finger…

@/youth.13: uhu, he's so down bad

@/pompom_lady: i mean, if i had a baddie like that…

@/267zip: OHMYGOD, DO I SEE A RING ON THE CORNER OF THE PHOTO?!?!?!?

After you came back together, Yuji made an apparition on your phone with the same cow video of 'congratulations’ when you two first got together. Later he asked you to hang out together, like the old times.

He was polite enough to invite you to the house you practically grew up in and the one you fell in love with Choso.

But with two new additions, Nobara and Megumi.

When you were eating, Yuji kept talking about how Choso was a mess when you two broke up, calling him 3 times a day crying of how much he missed you, Yuji's interpretation was dramatic and exaggerated, making you and Choso cringe about it, but your boyfriend didn't deny it, he just sat there, ashamed with red ears and his head low.

“Honestly, you are so lucky she took you back after what you did”, Nobara nodded adding fuel to the fire “yeah, i wished she gave the actor a chance” avoiding Choso's staring while she bit the spicy wing she picked, Megumi's slight nod didn't help on Choso's case.

Instead of the juice you used to drink as kids, now it was time for a couple of beers and more alcohol.

You and Choso came back home late at night, taking the last bus of the station, almost empty with just one old woman on the reservated seats and some man sleeping close to the door on the single seat close to the door.

“Its the first time in years i use the bus”, he said as he squeezed your hand, “oh, stop bragging about it", you pushed him with your shoulder, but you knew he didn't say it that way, he was excited and happy, taking public transportation was something that didn't usually happen anymore for him, but this night let him feel like a normal person again, something so basic made him this happy and at peace, maybe the alcohol was also helping, making you tipsy.

You let your head fall on the crock of his neck, he gave you a kiss on the side of your forehead “and we’re coming back home… together” he added with a whisper on your hair, this time now giving a kiss on your crown, caressing the ring on your finger at the same time.

The labyrinth of the streets to reach your home were quiet and harmonious, making it the perfect to sober up a little. Looking like a bright beginning for your future together.

🏷 @the-magician-in-alice, @yassifie-d, @heeknow -comment or send me a message to be added to the taglist!

“Will you teach her the arts?” Morpheus asks, splitting an apple in half. 

You take the offered piece as you lean back against the orchid tree. “Of course. Every lady should know something.”

“Perhaps Ophiona will sing better than you,” Morpheus teases and you lob the apple at his head, growling when it misses. 

Then a hiss when Ophiona drops the last apple on your head. “Sorry, my lady!” The warning came after. 

You rub the bump that starts to grow on your scalp, grumbling obscenities to yourself. “Dance, music, and literature I think will be my focus. When she grows stronger, we’ll see if she has any magical capabilities.” 

Morpheus agrees with silence. He takes a bite of the apple, tasting nothing but chewing it still. If only he accepted the apple his sister Death offered him the other day.

That’s when he heard it, the calling of his name. 

Dream of the Endless has been alive for many years, just beyond the birth of civilization. Since then, he has learned when and how to respond to prayers and calls of his name. This one, however, he couldn’t ignore. It came in a whisper strong enough that even you heard it. 

“Morpheus,” it whispers between the apple leaves and tickles the back of your ears. 

Immediately, you stand, the voice recognizable. 

“Calliope?” You call out, looking out at the meadows and behind the tree. 

The wind blows again, the call of his name sticking to your skin. You and Morpheus share a look and you see the familiar look of grief etch across his features. Clearly, there was something more to the summons that he heard than you. 

Morpheus is gone with the next blink of your eye and he takes the warmth of the dream with him. You let out a frustrated scream into the setting sun, cursing his name. Calliope is just as important to you as she was to him. Though you love and care for her differently, the emotions are the same intensity. You were like an aunt to her son; you are her confidant friend. 

You gather Ophiona into your arms before bringing her back to the castle. Lucienne is working in her library when you hand her the child. 

“Can you watch her for a moment?” You ask. The last time you left Ophiona alone in The Dreaming, she managed to wander into a nightmare that scarred her for a few days. 

“Sure, my lady. Though I should remind you that I’m not free childcare…” Lucienne’s words die in her throat as you’ve already disappeared in a flurry of hydrangea petals and four-leaf clovers. 

Sighing, the librarian puts Ophiona on the table, not minding her dirty overalls getting dust over the mahogany. Ophiona, whose hair typically is up in various looping braids, is askew. Sweat clings to her forehead from her climbing earlier and she has a streak of dirt going across her cheek. 

“Luci,” she whispers, tugging on her sleeve. “Do you want a surprise?” 

“Sure, little one.” 

Ophiona opens the small pocket at the front of her overalls and reaches inside. She holds the squirming lizard in her hand carefully before giving it to Lucienne with a fang-y smile. 

“Oh,” Lucienne responds tightly. “Thanks…”

Ophiona reaches into her pocket again and hands her another one. 

“Um,” Lucienne blinks, holding the two lizards now. “Where are you getting these?”

Ophiona pauses, a third reptile in her small hands. Her beady eyes start to well with tears. “Do you not like them?” 

“No! I love them,” the librarian answers quickly and thus gains another lizard to manage. 

…

Calliope felt his presence before she saw him. The slight change in the way the air settled around her, making room for another being as silently grand as her old husband. She lets out a breath, the condensation blooming against the frosted glass before she turns to him. 

He had changed since the last she saw him. It started with harsh words thrown at each other and ended with tears and declarations. This time, they meet again on shared terms but a clear line still divides the two. Invisible like a country’s border where one is given freedom and the other is locked in a cage made up of four maroon walls. Still, she allows herself a smile. 

“You came,” she says with relief. 

“You called,” Morpheus answers simply. 

“They told you’d been imprisoned. Just like me,” Calliope says, remembering well the words the Lady Fates spoke to her years ago. Her voice is steady, a false impersonation of how she really felt. 

“Not like you. My suffering was nothing compared to yours.” Morpheus takes a cautious step forward. Their relationship is a singular spider silk in a hurricane. 

“Don’t say that.” Calliope sighs and shakes her head, hair falling in front of her like heavy curtains. “Comparing our suffering only compounds it. It pained me to hear of your misfortune, but I’m glad that you are free.”

“You are bound here by the laws?” Morpheus asked. 

“I know you cannot free me. Only he can do that but… perhaps you can inspire him to let me go?” Calliope’s tired eyes meet his in the dim room. Moonlight really did suit him best. 

“I will do all that… and more,” Morpheus says, voice the pinnacle of silent fury. 

“Dream…” she warns. 

“He must be punished,” Morpheus grits out, his cloak’s shadow lengthening with his sour mood. 

“How? What punishment would be enough? Even his death would not bring back what he has taken from me. He is nothing. Just a man.”

“I cannot allow him to go free,” Morpheus responds.

“Why?” Calliope asks, her voice taking on a sharper tone. “Because I was once yours?”

The question strikes him and he takes a step back this time. Something hurts inside his chest and the voices of Lady Loss start to whisper in his ear. Love curled like old milk into guilt of what once was and will never be again. 

“Because he hurt you.” He says softly. It’s no longer a matter of possession. For a muse such as Calliope, one can never trap something so abstract. “The last time I saw you, you said you would never speak to me again.”

Calliope’s breath catches in her throat and she swallows down a stone of regret. Doubt creeps into her by the air draft in the house, the heavy feeling pulling her down by her feet. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“You misunderstand me.” Morpheus assures quickly, stepping closer to her like a dance that cannot happen. “When I heard you call to me, even after all this time…” the words hang heavy in the air. The words of lovers who never had the time to feel the loss of their relationship. “Let me help you. Please. I owe you that much.”

Calliope nods. “What will you do to him?”

The conversation cuts short when your arrival is announced in a bloom of clovers. Unlike Morpheus who came in a shadow, you come from the ground, limbs growing from the wooden floor and forming until you pinpoint your glare at Morpheus. A slew of words are ready to leave your lips before you see Calliope and all anger leaves you. 

You pettily fling some flower petals into Morpheus’ face as you cross the room to hold Calliope in your arms. And you keep her there as the echoing departure of Morpheus leaves the room in a shadow. 

The door to her room remains open, but Calliope doesn’t leave the warmth of your embrace. Not that she could. The bind of her imprisonment is that not of bars, but of ink amongst paper. When she first was stolen by Erasmus Fry, he had burned her scroll and bound her to him. With any luck, she will be free of her own fate soon. 

“Let’s sit,” you say, leading Calliope back onto her small bed. 

The muse sits as if she were a statue to be worshipped though her body language emits defeat. She barely moves when you take your seat next to hers, the bed shifting with your added weight. Calliope’s eyes remain steadfast on the door, full of hope and longing. 

“Here,” you say, handing her a pouch with a few dice inside. 

Calliope huffs a laugh. “To roll my fate?”

“No,” you respond, watching as she removes the dice made of marble. “When one finds themselves stuck, the laws of the universe demand that you stay still. But, I cannot allow you to remain stuck. So roll a dice and create movement.”

“What if I do not accept the answers the dice give me?”

“We are not seeking answers today, Calliope,” you respond. “We’re just playing.”

Calliope picks up a 12-sided dice and rolls it, the clattering sound silent against the cotton of her bedsheets. It stops at the number seven and you watch with amusement as seven silver strings grow out of the dice. 

You take your own dice, testing the weight of it in a loose fist before you also roll it. 

Four. 

Subsequently, four strands of silver flow out of the dice, so fine that they float in the air. 

The simple game continues. Calliope rolls, then you do. A small competition of who gets a higher number than the last. Just as you’ve said, there were no answers to be found in the rolling of the die, simply helping a friend. 

By dawn’s new light, the entire room is covered in spider silk-like threads. They weave around each other, sticking to surfaces and floating around the space. Your pouch has run out of dice and you shove everything, string included, back into it. 

For a moment, you and Calliope simply lay across the bed, staring together at the singular light on the ceiling. The house settles, creaking with a deep, old, sigh. 

“What if Morpheus doesn’t convince him?” Calliope asks suddenly, voice barely rising above the morning bird’s chirps. 

“He will.” Your answer comes without hesitation. 

Calliope turns her head towards you, studying you through her lashes. “How can you be so sure?”

“My belief in Morpheus does not come from blind faith. I know he will because I have seen what he’s capable of.” 

“What if he asks for something in return? Something I cannot give?” Calliope’s voice begins to panic, worry etching across her eyebrows and fear tightening her throat. 

“This is his penance, Calliope,” you say with a gentle voice. "He helps because he regrets how your relationship ended. Please understand that.”

“I can’t afford to give something up again,” she admits.

You stay silent for a moment, absorbing her words. If only you didn’t shut yourself in, if only you returned to your duties a few decades earlier, then perhaps this misfortune wouldn’t have befallen one of your closest friends. 

“They both wrote books,” Calliope continues, accepting your listening ear. “The world praised them for it, called them the voices of their generation. To be called the voice of a generation and they never saw…”

Your fingers close around Calliope’s hand, warm and steady. 

She takes a deep breath, finding the strength to continue. “They never saw the pain behind the words of his books. How I screamed for help behind every line he wrote. His words were born from my agony, how could they never see?”

“Mortals don’t listen,” you say simply, thumb brushing against her palm. “The world loves stories more than it loves the truth, otherwise humanity would be dangerously drab and boring. But know this, and know it well, Calliope: Morpheus will make sure he never writes again. That his work will never strike the inspiration of mortal men again.”

Calliope closes her eyes, tears threatening to fall when promised freedom is so close. Freedom was close to her once before, when she was under the thumb of Erasmus Fry, but that hope of leaving was smothered like a weak flame.

“He said that Morpheus wouldn’t come,” she says bitterly. “That he owns me.”

“Then he gambled wrong.” 

The house creaks again, this time with the purpose of footsteps on the main floor. You hold Calliope close, whispering a prayer to her. 

“Thank you.”

“You don’t owe me that,” you say, standing from the bed. It’s time for you to meet this Richard Madoc. “But, I’ll take it anyway.”

By the time you’ve come downstairs, Richard has fallen asleep on the couch in his living room. Morpheus is still sitting in the chair across from his writing desk. Though with his presence and the simple way he commands a room, the chair feels more like a throne than anything else. 

“You had all the fun without me?” You ask, pointing a finger at the sleeping assaulter. 

Morpheus regards Richard over the length of his nose, looking down upon him with a tilted chin. To him, Richard is beneath him—beyond his mortality. To Morpheus, he is the scum of the Earth. A taint on the brightness that is humanity. 

“How fares Calliope?” He asks instead. 

You sigh, dropping onto the couch by Richard’s head. “She’s hopeful and we should keep it that way.” 

Silence befalls you and you grow too anxious to stay sitting. Instead, you walk around Richard’s space. He’s hung his own book signing posters in his writing room, a testament to his ego. You are petty enough to draw devil horns and mustaches on the poster; if only you had a comically large Sharpie. Morpheus watches you from his spot, his eyes trailing after your every movement as you pick up different trinkets. You scoff as your hands pick up a recently polished plaque that reads “Richard Madoc, Writer of the Year Award”. 

“I have to ask,” you start as your eyes connect with Morpheus’. “you won’t ask anything of Calliope for this, will you?” 

“No,” Morpheus answers and you nod your thanks to him. 

Your mentor, Fortuna, was also a protector to married women amongst the typical fortune, luck, and prosperity. Though Calliope is no longer married, your deep friendship with her has offered an extended protection through that right. Helping Calliope now would help you repent the guilt you felt for not helping her years earlier. 

“What will you do then?” 

“To him?” Morpheus nods towards the sleeping man. “He wished for ideas and I shall give him plenty.” 

There is a menacing tone to his voice as he declares this. But, you’ll let Moprheus have the glory of destroying him. You have other things you can do to help Calliope before her rightful return to freedom. 

Richard groans, overhearing your conversation and begins to shift in his spot. You flinch, not expecting him to wake up at all. The plaque in your hands comes down before you can think—more of a reflex really—and smacks Richard across his forehead. He groans again, his head thunking against the metal of the couch’s arm as the hit knocks him unconscious. You grimace further as the plaque falls apart at the impact, the shiny engraved portion peeling off with tacks of glue before smacking itself onto Richard’s face again. 

With a guilty hand but a petty conscience, you toss the remaining broken award onto his face. 

“I’m… uh, yeah. Bye.” You scurry off awkwardly.

Morpheus disappears like a heavy fog, the sun returning with his absence. You’ve managed to sneak away as well, though you’ve remained close to Calliope by staying in Richard’s home. He has a laundry room and an old sewing machine that is more cobweb than thread. Sitting down, you pull out of your dice pouch and get to work. 

A brief conversation happens upstairs; a final conversation between Calliope and Richard. A conversation that will turn the tides against his favor. Your fortune will no longer serve his perverse actions. Anger shimmers underneath your skin, iridescent in the low light but a deep breath has it fading away. It would be unwise to feel anger while sewing clothes in case that anger is transferred into the clothing itself. 

You pull the threads from your dice pouch, plucking them with a sharp tug as they come to an end at the dice you and Calliope played with earlier. Each thread is silver, a slight vibration of magic weaved in the small strand. It flows with your intention, weaving and stitching across a piece of fabric you’ve conjured. 

You pause when the door to the house slams shut, signaling Richard leaving. Your ears perk, fingers still and waiting until the house settles and you know you are alone again. 

“What are you doing?” Calliope asks soon after, finding you. 

“Well, I can’t imagine you’d leave this wretched place in that,” you smile, nodding towards her chemise. 

Calliope looks down at her silk nightgown, the clothing uncomfortable to wear given how little it covered. “You make a fair point.”

With a satisfied smile, you return to your work. The stitches of the dress you are making are coming along, the fabric pure white and thick for the upcoming autumn wind. Calliope watches as you use the thread and imbue your fortune into them—into the dress. A protection charm for Calliope whenever she wishes to don the dress. 

The peplos soon takes form and you help Calliope into it with a proud smile. “How does it fit? Is it comfortable?” You ask as you drape the himation over her shoulder with the leftover fabric. 

Calliope adjusts her shoulders before taking a look at herself in the mirror. She looks… normal. As if she never left Mount Olympus or the safe flower fields that she and her muse sisters enjoyed playing in. Her divine eyes can see the wards that your fingers weaved into her clothes. 

Lady Luck, her close friend and goddess of fortune, prosperity, and fate. So many duties tied to one goddess, but she is grateful for it either way. She sees the runes between the threads and individual weaves of the fabric of her peplos. The fate that you weaved for her is written as hers alone, no longer part of someone else’s life without her consent. 

“It’s perfect,” she whispers. 

“Sit,” you say, ushering her into a stool in front of the mirror. “One last thing to complete your look.”

Under dusklight, your fingers comb through her hair. Her hair was far more straight than it used to be. Instead of the tight coils you knew them to be, they came to her waist in waves. After you remove the tangles, you grab sections and begin to wrap them around your fingers, redefining her coils. Then, with an enchantment on your lips, you begin to braid her hair. 

“Three strands—time, destiny, and fate,

I weave with my name calling to yours.

I, Lady Luck, unbind the threads stolen from you.

I, Lady Luck, tether your fate back to your own stars.

I, Lady Luck, call your name back from silence.

You are not owned, you are not forgotten. 

With these braids, return to your glory, Calliope.” 

The enchantment is repeated with each braid you weave from her brown hair until several braids sit in a tight knot at the back of her head. 

“Well? How do I look?” Calliope asks, eyes meeting yours through the mirror’s reflection. 

“Like you’re on the right path again,” you answer with a smile, hand fixing a few more stray strands. 

A comfortable silence settles over the two of you like a blanket of snow the morning after a winter storm. The worst is over and now only stands the glittering beauty that is goddesshood and mutual understanding. 

“Morpheus will be back from… well, whatever he did to Madoc soon,” you inform her. “He’ll watch over you. I have some personal matters to attend to.”

“What will you do?” 

“It should be none of your concern.”

Calliope doesn’t get a syllable of protest out before the front door of the house opens again. You and Calliope hide behind a laundry hamper of sweaty clothes, peaking around the corner to see a young woman entering the house. She heads straight to Calliope’s room and a few moments later, leaves with only a book in her hands. 

“Was she looking for me?” Calliope whispers behind you. 

“She won’t find you, no one will. Not until you are ready,” you reply. 

Call it superstition or maybe just a lucky guess, but you have a feeling you will find who you need to find if you were to follow that young woman. You leave Calliope anew in a puff of hydrangea petals, the room smelling of sweet citrus. At the last moment, you see Morpheus reappearing from his escapades. But, Richard Madoc has not last seen the divine tonight. 

Just as the call of Calliope came as a whisper, so did the return of her freedom. It wasn’t returned to her in a process before a judge, nor was it handed back to her with her stolen scroll. She only knew of her freedom because she felt it shift in the universe around her. It tasted of forgotten honeysuckle stuck to her tongue on summer evenings and the wilderness of windblown hair that eases the heaviest on her chest. And when she took her first breath, it didn’t taste of sawdust and law, but rather of the sky.

The sun quickly sets, turning dusk to evening. Even the universe understood that a chapter will be closing soon. 

“It is over,” Calliope breaks the silence first. “Thank you.”

Morpheus turns to her, body concealed in shadow before he decides to step into the moonlight with her. “I merely answered your call,” he replies—quiet, measured. “What will you do now?”

“I think,” Calliope starts, gathering her thoughts. “I think what I ought to do is to try to make sure that this never happens to anyone else ever again.”

“How?” The question Morpheus asks is simple, and yet it bears an insurmountable weight in a single syllable. 

“I do not know,” she replies with a soft shake of her head, her curls bouncing. “Perhaps by inspiring humanity to want better for themselves… and each other. By rewriting the laws by which I was held—laws that were written long ago in which my sister and I had no say.” 

“I shall do the same.” Morpheus nods. “In my realm.” 

His gaze finally returns to hers, seeing the past of their love still there. It’s fragmented—scattered in different directions and filled with more pain than happiness—yet she holds onto the memories. Calliope looks so familiar, like an old ache in the recesses of his chest where a heart used to beat for her. Yet, in the years past, humanity has tainted her, changed her to something else. More mature, more understanding of the cruelty of sin. But, he says nothing. Merely rememorizing her.

“You have changed, Oneiros,” Calliope muses, tilting her head as she studies him back. With a depreciative laugh, she continues, “in the old days, you would’ve left me here to rot without turning a hair. Do you still hate me? For leaving you? For blaming you for what happened?”

Morpheus stays silent again, the shadows threatening to consume him into silence. To allow himself to take the punishment unyielded. But, he finds the will to answer, for if there is one lesson he has learned from his lucky flower, it is to relinquish guilt of the past.

“No,” he answers at last. “I have learned much in recent times. And… no matter. I do not hate you.”

Calliope allows herself a smile and a relieved breath. “I think you should release the mortal now. He has set me free and without forgiveness, wounds will never heal.” 

Morpheus’ features harden, just slightly. “You would forgive him? For all that he has done?”

The muse shakes her head, quickly explaining further. “No, I will not forgive what he has done, but I must forgive the man. Not for him, but for me.” She turns to him, eyes set in a stubborn glint. “So, will you free him?”

Morpheus exhales quietly though his nose. His features are still strict with disagreement, his eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “If that is what you wish. It shall be done.” 

With a small wave of his hand, the door to the Madoc house opens. The door hinges are silent as it opens, bringing cold evening air into the stuffy house. He leads Calliope to the threshold, but stops just short to let her step through to her freedom on her own. 

Calliope’s skin rises with the cold air and she lingers for a moment. There are still things she wishes to discuss.

“May I visit you in the Dream Realm sometime?” She asks. It’s now or never. “So that we may finally talk about what happened to our son and grieve him properly?”

“One day, perhaps,” he answers in a hurt whisper. “But…”

Calliope nods gently with understanding. Her ex-lover was still as stubborn as ever, thinking all blame is to be put onto his shoulders and no one else's. 

“I understand,” she replies just as softly.

Gently, as one would approach a wounded animal, she steps up to him. He smelled as she remembered, though now it possessed a lighter air about it. She brings her cheek to his, not quite a kiss but an intimate gesture nonetheless. A simple touch that portrayed all of the thoughts that she didn’t have the heart to say and that he didn’t have the patience, yet, to hear. 

“Fare thee well,” Calliope says at last. “Fortune be with you.”

A rare smile graces Morpheus’ lips as he leans into her touch. “She is,” he answers. 

Calliope leaves in the quiet of the night. Not because she doesn’t deserve the grandeur of a dawn, for that she most certainly definitely does, but because she doesn’t want it. She is silent—once here and now no more. Just as it should have always been. Inspiration never stays, it will come and it will go when it pleases. Even as her back turns towards him, her feet make no sound on the pavement.

Goodbye to the muse Calliope. We will see you again, but not tonight. 

»» ──── .☘︎ ݁˖x ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

“I’m back, Mr. Madoc. How’re you feeling?” The student asks, walking into his hospital room. 

His hands are bound in gauze, an IV drip connects to a vein in his arm as he sits, contemplating. “Um,” he starts, seemingly bringing himself to the present. “I don’t know anymore. I… I keep trying to think but…”

“Well, I did what you asked earlier—went to your place for the woman?” She continues. “There was only this book, though.” 

An old book is placed in Richard’s lap, one that he remembers even as his memory fades away from him. “Here Comes A Candle” the title read, worn and fading from years of use. The pages were yellowing, the edges fraying, and it smelled of cigarette smoke and whiskey mold. Richard’s hand traces the face of the model on the cover, a frown etched on his face. 

“There was something she said. Something about… the shaper of forms?” He continues. The more he focuses on the face, the less he remembers. “There was a name that she wrote down. Fuck, why can’t I remember? It’s so… hard to think all of a sudden.”

His student takes an awkward step backward, clearly uncomfortable. “Is there anyone I should call?” She asks instead. 

Richard pays her question no mind. “She’s gone and it’s all gone with her. The ideas, the stories!” He continues to cry. “No, don’t leave,” he begs his student as she inches towards the door. “You have to know. They were all hers and they’re gone!”

“Nurse! Please, can I get some help?” The student shouts out the door frantically. 

Richard begins to unwind the gauze around his hands, to see the proof of what had happened to him as if it will spark a memory. It was there, the ideas, at the very edges of his fading mind. But the harder he remembers, the more he forgets. Just like a dream. 

“Who are you talking about?” The student asks, holding his hands to distract as a nurse walks in. 

“I have no idea. No idea…” He whispers this time.

“I can take over from here.” 

“Thank you, nurse,” the student sighs a breath of relief as she comes face to face with you. 

When you followed her back to the hospital Richard was staying at, you quickly stole some scrubs from the nursing station. They didn’t fit all that well and the fabric was itchy against your skin, but you paid no mind to it for now. You had business to attend to before you head back to see Calliope off. 

With a gentle hand, you usher the student outside and close the door behind her. Then, you turn your attention towards Richard. 

“Do you believe me, nurse?” He asks, eyes teary with confusion. 

“I do,” you answer, fiddling with the machines as if you knew what you were doing. 

“You… you look familiar, too.”

“Do I?” You say, focusing on your newfound ability. 

The silver strings of fate come into view and you begin to pluck them from the air. Richard watches with an agape mouth, seeing the strings materialize before him. He stutters his words, lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You…”

“Me…?” You mock back, frowning at him with a displeased sneer. 

“Please. It was a mistake. Yes, a mistake. I don’t want misfortune to fall upon me… did I not already pay for it?” Richard begs—prays even—towards you. 

“You do not deserve misfortune, Richard Madoc. For your sins, you do not deserve to see me again.” Your fingers wrap around the silver fate strings that connect his life and yours, snapping them with ease. “You will see neither fortune nor misfortune. You deserve what you have sewn—a nobody, forgotten. Never one of the greats.” 

With a blink of his eye, you disappear. The faint smell of hydrangeas remains in the room, but he can’t seem to remember why it was there in the first place. For the rest of his years on earth, he will remain bedridden in the hospital. Nurses and doctors will check up on him, but won’t remember him for anything more than Patient #64397 that needs to be fed and washed. His books will go to thrift shops, then to the clearance aisle, then the landfill. Until the pages rot with the other thrown away and forgotten things. 

You return to an empty house, the faintest vision of Calliope’s white dress in the distance down the street. 

“Where have you been?” Morpheus asks, turning his attention to you. 

He still stood at the threshold of the door, not yet left without you. You answer with a vague shrug. The dealings between you and Richard Madoc shall remain between the two of you. 

“Did Calliope bid you goodbye?” You ask instead.

“She did.” Morpheus moves closer, his shadow swallowing yours against the streetlamp luminous light. 

When you turn to look at him, his hand is already reaching out. You’ve learned to accept his touches long ago, perhaps you sense his guilt about your eye. His fingers linger above your skin for a moment in hesitation, as if afraid he may hurt you again. Still, his knuckles trace, feather light, down your cheek, his eyes looking so worried against your new one. 

“It’s not that bad,” you offer with a sad smile and turn your cheek to him, his fluid movements tracing the shell of your ear. 

“It should not have happened at all. I was reckless. I put you in danger.” His hand drops away only to bring your eyes back to him with a gentle guide of your chin. 

There was that careful touch again—reverent and solemn. 

“Look at me, my flower,” he whispers. “Please.”

Your eyes meet his again, heterochromia against the endless starry sky. The silence stretches, breaths mingle and your eyelids flutter as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. A little red string, the one you ignored all those days ago, comes back into your vision. It glows with a soft pulse, an ache that pulls you closer to him. 

“I cannot give you your original eye back,” he says. “But I would give you anything else. To never leave you wanting for anything.”

You go to respond, frowning slightly. He’s already given you a new eye, and objectively it’s better than your old one. But Morpheus speaks first—urgently now. The words push out of him before he loses confidence.

“I love you,” he confesses in a whisper. 

You exhale a tense breath, almost pulling away again. His fingers move from your lips to your cheek, caressing the soft skin. He steps closer and your hands move to his chest, ready to push him away, yet you do not. It feels as if a string has wrapped itself around your wrists, binding you to the spot. 

Morpheus hesitates, the warmth of his lips so close to yours before you close the gap. 

It’s surprisingly soft, something you didn’t expect from the cold hard edges of the Dream Lord. Swaddled in romantic evenings and firefly fields, your kiss felt like a dream come true. But that is all it should be—a dream. 

You pull away with a soft gasp and the look on Morpheus’ face shows that he saw the regret in your eyes. His expression didn’t change, but you knew.

You take a step back. Then another. Your fingers trace across your kissed lips with realization. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking in its softness. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“But you did. Why? Why did you pull away?” 

“Because…” you start but your words falter. 

Why did you pull away? The thoughts are a jumbled mess. Like someone wrote each letter to each sentence on separate sheets of tiny papers then shook them in a jar. But in the end, they all aligned and had the same reasoning. 

“Because, you don’t love me,” you realize. 

Morpheus frowns, his shadow growing longer and his jaw flexing with irritation. “You are being preposterous, I lov—”

“No.” You stop him with a simple word. “You do not.” 

Four syllables. Apparently that’s all it takes for Dream of the Endless to buckle at his knees. 

The air thickens with tension, even dust fears to move in the stale house. His jaw tightens again, holding back a thousand words. A confession is only three, a sonnet has 100, a song—300, a love letter—600.

And then he moves, words evade him for once. 

One step. Then another. Steady and purposeful—like a raincloud determined to rain where it must. 

With each step of his, you take another back instinctively until your back brushes against the wooden paneling inside Richard’s house. Your heels hit the baseboard behind you and you know that there’s no escaping. 

“You do not decide how I get to feel,” Morpheus insists through gritted teeth. 

“Morpheus…” you sigh, his name a plea. 

“Are you not the goddess of chance? Why not give this a chance?” He asks, almost teasingly to rile you up further. “Your heart, I know it itches to gamble on us.”

Your hands clench at your side into fists. This just proves what you already knew to be true. “I am not Calliope,” you say sharply. “And I am not Nada. You do not love me, not truly.”

Morpheus opens his mouth, but you stop him with a hand. 

“Appreciation, perhaps,” you continue. “Affection, even. We helped each other greatly recently, so… I believe you confuse love for usefulness, that I am something beneficial to you. Your lucky charm, your loaded dice.”

“I love you,” he says again—firmly, stubbornly—as if repeating it would will it into existence. But Morpheus is the King of Dreams, not reality. “I love you,” he repeats. “I love you. I lov—”

Thunk.

“Ah… ow,” you hiss. Your foreheads collide as you slam his with all of your might and a crack echoes where pride and tension breaks. 

“Ow,” Morpheus says flatly.

You place a warm palm to your head, feeling a bump starting to form. “Did I finally find a soft spot in that thick head of yours?”

“I am Lord of Dreams,” Morpheus grunts out. “I do not have soft spots.”

“You do now,” you quip, poking his forehead where yours connected. 

“Do you still reject my confession?” Morpheus asks softly after a moment and the solemn atmosphere returns. 

“Yes,” you respond, offering a sympathetic smile. “Until you love me for who I am. Not what I can give you.”

You slip out from under his shadow, disappearing in a cloud of hydrangea petals. Morpheus reaches out, letting a few fall into the palm of his hand. The pretty summer colors are bright against his pale skin. With a determined exhale, he pulls the petals into the inner breast pocket of his jacket and returns to The Dreaming in a swirl of sand.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

I did promise a kiss. I promised only that and nothing else.

YOU PUT THOSE TOMATOES AWAY! I said it was a slow burn!!!

I'm working on the next part of the series but I already know it's going to take some time, what with the semester starting and all that. So... soz

Tag list: @astral-dreamer-7 @uniquehijo @navs-bhat @ireneserene @givingmyhearttoyou @v3lary0ns @totallysocially @villain-in-the-dark @bontensbabygirl @sarcastic-nebula

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Previous << || >> {You've Reached the End}

That fact didn't leave you as you sat with her and Lily in the Great Hall for dinner, a number of seats away from the other Marauders. You recognized with a skip in your heartbeat that James was with them, surprisingly enough since you knew how he was accustomed to skipping meals in the dining hall when he wanted to be alone, a habit you both unfortunately shared. But that didn't mean he was enjoying himself either.

You could see even from your seat down the table that he wasn't saying much, mostly keeping to himself quietly, something so out of character for him yet you'd seen him do it constantly the entire week. You wanted to yell at him and shake him silly, but you also wanted to hug him. When you caught yourself in the midst of those thoughts you turned back to your own spot at the table shamefully.

You tried to force yourself to eat, catching your friends' concerned looks at your full plate, but you didn't feel much like it. Especially not when you still felt maybe a dozen pairs of eyes on you from every corner of the Great Hall.

Even with all that'd happened since just that morning, the rumors and whatever else people had come up with to talk about had not yet been forgotten about by the school like your friends said it would be. Then you thought about whether news had spread of your disastrous date in Hogsmeade, and prayed that nobody had caught wind of that incident either. You didn't think you could handle any more of the staring.

Immediately after you had that thought, you spotted a fifth-year in Ravenclaw robes walking past your table, watching as he blatantly pointed at you as he spoke to his friend, and you looked down at your plate with hardened eyes.

You heard Marlene scoff from next to you. "Hey!" she called to the boy. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to point?"

The fifth-year didn't respond to her but looked to his friend, hurriedly taking a seat at his own table, his whispers being drowned out in the loudness of the dining hall.

Marlene fumed from next to you. "I can't believe these people. Are they really that bored with their own lives that they're so obsessed with a bloody rumor?"

You shook your head toying with your fork. "Just ignore them. That's what I've settled on doing."

She sighed from beside you and you thought that'd be the end of everything, until you heard gasps from down the table. You looked up and followed the sounds and were met with a sight not even the magic of Hogwarts could've prepared you for.

James—your James—had stood up on the bench he'd once been sitting in, and you thanked Merlin he wasn't standing fully on the table; though you had absolutely no idea what he could possibly be up to, you knew it couldn't be anything good. He cupped a hand to his mouth as your heartrate picked up.

"Can I have everyone's attention?"

He didn't have to ask twice for it. His voice boomed out loudly, something that seemed to come naturally to him, and the noise in the Great Hall had died out in a mere second until it was almost completely silent—quiet enough for you to hear the beating of your heart in your chest as you looked up at him. Your throat went dry.

"Not that it's any of anyone's business," he started confidently to the hundreds of eyes now looking at him, tone nothing but sober. "But nothing happened in the broom closet. Or in the locker room."

You felt the churning in your stomach claw up into your throat, then felt it drop back down, keeping you stationed in your seat. He didn't give much context to his declaration, but with the popularity of the topic amongst the school, it didn't seem like he needed to. His voice almost seemed to echo, all other noises drowning out as everyone stared up at him. James looked around the entire room appearing completely unafraid and you didn't know how the hell he did it; you probably looked more fearful than him.

"So," he began again, "I don't want to see or hear anyone talking about those rumors any longer. And if anyone has a problem with that, they can answer to me. Alright?"

Of course, nobody said anything then, but you could see in their eyes that they were going to listen to him. Or at least, they'd make sure they didn't get caught going against him. Maybe it was from his impenetrably confident voice or his respected status around the school, you weren't sure, but he had that unique effect on people in an almost effortless way.

When it was clear he'd gotten his point across, he scanned his eyes over the sea of students until they found yours. In a dizzying way, it felt like you were the only two in the room for a moment, as cliché as the thought sounded in your head.

You didn't know what had motivated him to do what he did, but you could see in his eyes something fragile that juxtaposed the self-assured look they'd had only seconds ago. He looked away again and stepped back down to floor level once more, not taking a moment before striding out of the Great Hall, his form disappearing seconds after.

Even without his physical presence, his action seemed to linger over the room for a moment more before chatter broke out once again. You were still frozen in place, not knowing if moving would finalize the idea that whatever just happened was real and not just part of some wild dream.

Marlene had confirmed that it definitely had happened, however, when she turned to you with her jaw dropped, an amazed but delighted sparkle in her eye. "Someone tell me you saw that too."

"Oh we saw it," rang Lily, who also looked much too happy about that fact, probably just relieved James's antics weren't centered on her for once. You could see them both staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to react. You could also see the boys in your peripheral, the three of them remaining at the table searching your face for a reaction.

Yet, all you could do was stand up and walk hurriedly towards the exit. Dozens of conversations rushed past your ears as you did, a blur of remarks ranging from "Potter's lost it" to "He's so bloody fit." Whatever they were saying, you noted with gratefulness in the back of your mind that none of the conversations were about you.

You reached the doorway and stopped once you were a safe distance away in the hallway, heaving breaths in for a moment to yourself before finding that you weren't alone. All of your friends had followed you without blinking an eye, and you didn't know whether you found it endearing or inconvenient. Though, to be fair, you didn't know where you were going. You just knew you couldn't sit there and pretend as if nothing had happened.

You blinked at the three boys who neared you with puzzled looks on each of their faces. "Did you guys know anything about this?"

"No," promised Sirius. "In fact, James has hardly said anything to us since this morning."

You shook your head to yourself, feeling breathless. "I can't ... believe he would do that."

"Really?" Lily stared at you. "I mean, it's Potter we're talking about. It's exactly something he would do."

You couldn't fight the smile that tugged on the corners of your lips even as you shook your head. You ran a hand over your hair as the blonde from next to you hit you in the shoulder.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" You frowned over at her as she stared at you expectantly. "Go to him."

You stilled, gaping at her. "What?"

"Go to him. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

You tipped your head at her like it would help you understand her better, parting your drying lips. "I thought you said he was a selfish git." You heard Remus snort from beside you.

"I did, sure," reasoned Marlene, not without a hint of pride. "But only because I thought he was ruining your chances of moving on now that you were over him. But seriously, I can see your face when you look at him." She shook her head. "That's not the look of someone who wants to move on."

Your eyes flickered over her face as she spoke, an infinite number of thoughts overtaking you. In the silence of your thinking, a Hufflepuff boy walked past the six of you in the hallway, staring all the while.

"What are you looking at?" snapped Marlene, turning to him without missing a beat. "Did you not just hear Potter?"

Like he'd heard him loud and clear, and also like he was scared of Marlene, he hurried away with his head bent forward. Satisfied, the blonde turned back to you. At your conflicted expression, she asked, "Well?"

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. "It's just that," you began, not even knowing where you were going with your rambling. "I've spent so long trying to get over him. It's not fair to myself to just forget all of that, and it definitely wasn't fair to Sebastian-"

"For Merlin's sake," cut in Lily, to your surprise. "You keep talking about what's fair and what's unfair, but what about you? What do you want?"

You stared at her, beginning to feel breathless under the eyes of all your friends. "It's not just about what I want. It's not that simple."

"But what if it is?" she questioned. "I know how difficult this has all been for you. And I know you said Potter doesn't just get to realize his feelings for you and suddenly be with you, that it doesn't work like that. But what if it does?" She raised her hands at her sides. "Not everything is a perfect story to tell. Especially not when it comes to you two. It's not every day you fall in love with your best friend and he finally sees that he's fallen for you too. Are you seriously going to let him go because of some made-up system of rules?"

Your breath was becoming staggering now, and you didn't know what to think, because everything they were telling you sounded so right.

"I don't know," you began unsurely. "Of course, I don't want to lose him. Not talking to him for the past week has been harder than I ever could've imagined. I don't even know what it would feel like to have to do it for longer than I already have been." You blinked down at your shoes, truly realizing those things at the same rate you said them. "I think I just ... miss him."

"Of course you miss him." Marlene looked at you sympathetically. "That's why I think you should go tell all this to him."

You felt bile rising in your throat. "I don't even know if he'd want to see me after all we've said to each other."

"Are you joking?" Remus butted in exasperatedly. "Prongs is bloody in love with you. Can't you see that?"

"Remus," you warned softly because you didn't know how much more of this hope you could take before you did something you'd regret.

"I'm telling the truth." His voice was heavy with meaning. "Maybe it took him a while to realize it himself, but the rest of us have had to sit back and watch you both act like you don't have feelings for each other for years. Believe me, the only reason he's in his room right now and not with you is because he thinks that's what you want."

Your brows pinched. "You can't truly know that."

"Really?" he laughed. "What do you think we talked about that night Vance asked you out?"

Your expression faltered and you forced yourself to think back to the night James had begun acting distant from you, though it wasn't difficult to, the storyline of it all clicking into place in your head.

"You," breathed Remus. "We talked about you."

"Not to mention," Sirius added, "we're the ones who've had to spend every night in our dorm listening to him bitch and moan about Vance this and Vance that." You swallowed at your friends' words, but they didn't quit.

"And we know James was being a right idiot today," Sirius insisted honestly. "But you should've seen him this morning right after you two argued. He was heartbroken. More than he'd ever been over Evans." He turned to the redhead in question. "No offense, Evans."

Lily rolled her eyes lightheartedly. "Trust me, Black, none taken."

He nodded and turned back to you swiftly. "So for you to think that James would want anything other than to fix things with you and just be with you is bloody mental."

You stared at all of your friends who were looking so determinedly back at you that you didn't think you could tell them 'no' now. But still, your feet didn't budge.

"It's not just that," you almost whispered. "I guess I'm just ... scared. What if it goes wrong and we get into some ridiculous fight again? What then?"

Marlene took a hold of your shoulders, slightly scaring you in her resoluteness. "Potter just stood up and yelled at the entire bloody school and you're trying to tell us you'rescared?" She shook you a little, and your friends smirked from behind her. "Be a Gryffindor for Godric's sake! Go to him!"

Before you could say anything more, she was turning you around and shoving you a little until you had the momentum you needed to take steps toward the Gryffindor common room. You made it all the way up the nearest set of steps before you paused, turning back to your friends with a grateful smile.

"Thank you, you guys." You expected them to share the sweet moment with you, but they only rolled their eyes.

"Go, woman!" Sirius groaned, and you rolled your eyes back at them, but it lacked any real annoyance.

You didn't know exactly what you were planning on doing, but you didn't have time to think about it because your legs were carrying you speedily through the halls in your anxious state and wouldn't let you stop until you reached the portrait entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Taking a steadying breath in, you said the password and entered the room.

With everyone else still being at dinner in the Great Hall, it wasn't exactly difficult to find James. He sat in the common room, his brunette head of curls visible to you in the low light. They covered the majority of his face that you could see, his head tipped downwards with his elbows resting on his knees. That changed within the blink of an eye as you entered the room, his head swiftly lifting until he locked eyes with you, and you had to fight a shiver at the feeling it sent shuddering through you.

He seemed to think you were just going to go to your own dorm and ignore him, and he averted his eyes to look somewhere else, maybe the fireplace, until you left—but you didn't. You only walked closer to him until you were separated by only one of the couches, the distance still small enough to make your breathing quicken.

At the soundlessness of your stilled footsteps, James looked back up and met your eyes again, and he swallowed. Clearly, he hadn't expected you to make any move to talk to him that night, even after the scene he'd made in the Great Hall. The problem was that you hadn't expected yourself to either, and now you didn't know what you wanted to say first, because there were certainly a million things you had to make sure he knew.

"Thank you," you said, because you figured it was a good place to start. He nodded up at you, his eyes not revealing much of anything, but you didn't let that sway you. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"Of course I did." His voice was stubborn, but too sincere for how little his expression gave away.

You looked down at your feet, letting a moment pass before speaking again. "Well, now it seems like everyone is going to be talking about you from now on."

"That doesn't matter to me." James's voice cut through the air richly, and when you looked back up from the floor he was staring at you meaningfully. "They can say whatever the hell they want. As long as they're not talking about you."

Your shoulders dropped at his words, and the way he held your eyes as he said them made your heart beat faster in your chest. It hadn't even been a full day since you'd last spoken to him, but you already missed him.

"They wouldn't leave you alone," he said concretely, his tone beginning to fill with emotion. "And then, I heard what Marlene said in the common room, about some girl harassing you in the library? I-" he shook his head frustratedly, rubbing at his forehead with one of his hands. "I'm just mad at myself that I've let it go on for this long. Or that I didn't even know that happened."

You already felt too emotional for your liking, the feelings inside of you swirling more aggressively at every word he said to you. "It's not like it's your fault, James."

"Well it's not like I did much to stop it, did I?" He seemed genuinely angry at himself now, and you didn't know what you could do to help. A painful lump was rising in your throat, but you stayed rooted in your spot behind the sofa. "And I'd ask you why you didn't come and tell me, but that'd be a bloody stupid question."

He shook his head, eyes becoming wistful like he was recalling a memory, one that pained him. "Earlier, when Marlene was defending you in the common room, the look on your face was ... I don't know. Crushed. Sad."

You swallowed at the memory, because that had been exactly how you were feeling, amongst thousands of other ways. James looked down at his lap.

"I just wanted to try and help, do anything to make that look on your face go away, but I couldn't. So I just kept replaying how you looked in my head, and the more I thought about it, the more I hated myself because I realized you were only hurting because of me. And that was the worst part. Realizing that it was all my fault."

You felt yourself wanting to take a step towards him, wanting to just reach out to him as the tips of your fingers teemed with the longing you felt in your chest. "James," you began, your voice hushed. "It's not all your fault."

You meant it. To try and say to yourself that you had no part in all the confusion between the two of you would be a blatant lie, one that you couldn't let James go on believing, especially not with the pained look on his face.

He only shook his head at you. "It is," he insisted. "And here you go, being perfect towards me when I don't deserve it." A muscle worked overtime in his jaw. "Marlene was right. I was being selfish, and petty, and a lot of other things, but most importantly, I wasn't being a good friend." He paused, a grieving confliction tugging at his brow. "That's ... that's not what friends do."

You went still then too, the word 'friend' hanging in the air between you with a weight that only made you tired. The truth was that cobwebs had grown in the house where you'd fostered that unforgiving title, and it felt like some intangible force had locked you both inside with it blindly.

"Yeah, well," you began, your voice small, "we've been doing plenty of things that friends don't do, lately.Like you said, we kissed, right?" You let out a breathy sound like a laugh that lacked any joy, and the way James's eyes flickered up at you knocked the rest of the air right out of you.

"About that," he began hesitantly, and you could tell he was thinking about both the night it'd happened and that morning when you'd fought, just like you were. "I know you don't want that to mean anything, so it- ... it doesn't have to. Even if I want it to. Because it doesn't matter what I want—what matters to me is you."

You were thankful you had the couch next to you to brace a hand on, because you'd never felt so swept up by a conversation and you weren't sure how much longer you could stand the way your heart was nagging at you.

"You were right," swore James, but the slight shake of his eyes back and forth on your face didn't look as adamant as he sounded. "It's not fair for me to expect something from you when you already got over me."

The words you'd shouted at him in Hogsmeade that morning sounded foreign and wrong coming from his lips, and you knew the months of dishonesty that laced them like you knew the back of your hand.

"And it's too late now, I get that." His voice went from deep and determined to on the cusp of breaking, and it killed you. "I just want to know that you're happy, and if being happy means being with Vance instead of me, then ... I can deal with that."

You watched as he swallowed, like he was forcing the words to come from his lips even if it pained him. The way he hadn't broken eye contact with you the whole while was starting to make your head spin.

Your blinking sped up, maybe holding back the emotion you knew you was fighting to come out, and you whispered, "James."

Maybe you hadn't been loud enough, or maybe he just knew you'd try to disagree with him again, but he only continued determinedly at you.

"I know I probably went and ruined your chances with Vance, like an idiot, but I'm going to do whatever it takes to get you another date with him." He nodded at you once firmly, and within a second he was standing up, taking an intentional step forward. "Hell, I'll even go talk to him right now and-"

"James," you called again, louder this time. "Stop."

You put a hand out and it landed on his arm softly but firmly, and all you could was pray you could find the right words to say to him as he stared at you, level with you now in an unsteadying way.

"You didn't ruin my chances with Sebastian. It wouldn't have worked out regardless, even if I'd wanted it to. Because being with him isn't what I want." You shook your head, recalling back what James had said to you only moments before. "He wouldn't have made me happy." You sounded desperate now. "He's not you."

James stilled, his glistening eyes the only thing showing movement as they danced across your face intensely, though you saw them widen with something bright like hope. "What?"

The confusion of the word that he'd practically whispered out unspeakably attested to how you felt yourself, the terrain of the land you were exploring right there and then with James uncharted and rocky. You pushed on, knowing there was no going back now.

"Marlene wasn't completely right, James. She only said all of those things because I'd spent all this time trying to convince her—and myself—that I didn't still have feelings for you. But I do, clearly." You tipped your head down for a moment in exasperation and exhaustion, willing yourself to keep going. "Everyone can see it. All of our friends. Hell, even Sebastian could see it." You laughed, though your eyes were growing blurry. "So for me to try to push those feelings down any longer would just be lying to you and to myself." You let out an exasperated breath. "And I'm so sick of lying."

Your shoulders sunk as you stood there, a steadily shrinking distance between you and James that was both comforting and daunting to you. You couldn't do anything but watch as James's face stilled and then shifted as he thought, studying your own face in a way that made you conscious of every shift in your expression.

"I just," he began, and then raked a hand through his hair. "Why did you feel like you needed to hide how you felt in the first place?"

You felt your mouth go dry at the question—one you knew came only out of a desperate curiosity and nothing else—and your mind began spinning. The last few years of your friendship seemed to swirl in your head, flickering in and out of focus as you tried to come up with an answer.

"I-" you began, willing yourself to say something, anything at all. "I was scared." The words rang true so much that they made your heart pinch. "Scared that you wouldn't feel the same and I'd go and ruin everything. That I'd lose you."

James's hands lifted up from his sides like he wanted to reach out to you, and he did. He took your hand in his, grasping lightly at your fingertips in a touch that steadied you and made you feel lightheaded at the same time. He shook his head at you with a firm hold in his brow.

"You could never lose me."

His lips were parted, and his hazel eyes glistened over in the low common room lighting like the thought of your suggestion was painful enough on its own. Looking at him then, his face lined with years of a comforting, steadying familiarity, you knew deep in your chest that what he said was true. But that didn't alter all that you'd felt for the past number of years.

"It's not just that," you said, looking down at his hand that held yours and blinking away the guilt that crept into your stomach, because it wasn't James's fault that you had felt this way. "Even in Hogsmeade, James." Your voice was becoming unsteady again and it only frustrated you more. "What if everything you said you felt for me was just some spur-of-the-moment thing from some kiss? What if you didn't feel the same way a week from now? Or a month? I knew I wouldn't be able to get over that fear. Especially when I'd been hiding how I felt from you for years. And then there were your feelings for Lily to think about and ... I don't know."

You trailed off, finally able to stop yourself. You felt petty, so petty, because you were so close to getting what you knew your heart wanted, but you felt the insistent need to ruin things for yourself and think of every way things could go wrong. You'd never felt closer to James then, but also never farther away. All you could do was stand there and wait for him to say something, anything.

James stayed unmoving for a beat staring at you, wordlessly taking everything in with a fragility in the air that hallowed your labored breathing. Then he started to shake his head like he was in disbelief. He ran a hand through his brown hair.

"For Merlin's sake."

His voice was low, a mutter, and he stared at the ground for a moment in thought before dropping the hand that once held yours, turning and walking away from you, leaving up the steps to his dorm room. You watched his back as he disappeared, your fingertips feeling cold and empty.

You felt your blinking speed up in a dizzying confusion. You didn't know what had come over you, not even sure exactly what you'd said in all of your desperate rambling that had made him decide to leave, but your vision started to blur even more than it already had until you recognized the wetness forming beside your eyes.

Nothing made sense. Not then, and not in the last twenty-four hours. You moved until you were sitting down on the couch in front of you, feeling lightheaded as the fireplace crackled a few feet away. The light from outside had left with the sun and the room had a comforting kind of warm lighting, though even that did little to soothe you as you sat there with all the unresolved feelings within you.

You were confused and lost and wanted nothing more than to just fix things, but you were even more at a loss for words when you heard quick footsteps coming from the staircase James had left from, and then saw his returning form making its way down the steps.

You turned your head to him swiftly in confusion, following him and his soft but energetic steps as he came to sit next to you, and that was when you noticed he was holding something—a box. One that was tattered on the corners, its black fabric aged and dusting over.

You wiped at your eyes quickly, brows tugging in all your bewilderment as you waited for James to explain.

"I-" he began, and stopped as soon as his eyes focused more on your face. You must've looked as broken as you felt, and at seeing the look on your face, he held one of your hands in his before swiping across your cheek gently with the pad of his thumb.

You felt like wilting under his soft touch that you'd missed more than anything in the confusing weeks, mentally and physically exhausted from everything but still wanting more than anything to understand.

When you looked perhaps more stable, he looked back at the box that he'd set down beside him and placed it on his lap delicately as he spoke, his words echoing out slowly.

"I know you think I've just realized my feelings for you a week ago, and that they came from some kiss at a party. But, you have to believe me when I say that they're so much more than that." He placed the box in your hands, and you took it from him with a note of fragility, resting it atop your legs. His eyes bore into yours, like it would break him if you couldn't understand the words leaving his lips. He took a shaky breath in. "I need you to know, more than anything, that you're everything to me. You always have been."

Your lips began to shake at the earth-shattering words coming from your best friend's lips. "James, what-"

He stopped you with a gesture of his head that told you to look inside the box, and you did. Carefully, you lifted the flimsy cardboard top and placed it to the side, brows pulling together tight and something loud and hearty threatening to pull from your chest. You shook your head as tears began to well over your eyes again as you recognized what James had given you.

The box, the measly and old mess of cardboard and paper, was full of all the letters you'd written to him over the years—all the thank you notes, the letters you'd sent him from that summer and all the past ones—every single one of them. Your eyes raked over each of them when you felt too stunned to use your hands, but your heart still felt touched by the memories of each one all the same. It took everything in you not to release the sob you felt rising in your lungs.

"It's you. It's always been you."

James's eyes never left your face as you took everything in, the look behind them never having seemed so determined, so desperate. But there was something behind the way he looked at you, something so warm and honest, so familiar that you felt ridiculous for never noticing it before. And when your gaze flickered downward for a second in contemplation he tipped his head to follow it endearingly.

"Always," he promised. "Not Evans, not anyone else. I know I'm a bloody idiot, and I know I haven't been great at showing my emotions when it comes to you, but that's because it's you, and you mean everything to me and have since we were kids, and if this can't make you see that then I promise I'll spend every day trying to make up for it, and-"

"James." You stopped him, not knowing how much longer you could take sitting next to him and not getting rid of the frustrated crease between his brows, or how much longer you could ignore the thrum of your heart that called out to him so clearly now.

"Yeah?" he asked, and his eyes were like a deer in headlights. The warmth in their color reflected the simmering warmth from the fireplace, but that didn't compare to the fire that lay behind his gaze.

You placed the box, his box of the last six years of your friendship and then some, atop the couch next to you, and didn't wait another second before engulfing him in a hug. Your body crashed into his as he leaned back against the couch, his hands coming up to embrace you right away, and you heard him breathe a smile by your ear before he laughed, a perfect noise.

You felt like laughing then too, and crying, and everything else, because you couldn't remember the last time you'd gotten to hold him like this without the fear of revealing too much to him nagging at you. Your cheek pressed against his neck, his curls fanned against the top of your head, his hands held you tight, and you never wanted to leave the safety of his arms. Except to do one thing.

You pulled away from the hug and so did James after a second, his eyes wide and glistening but truly happy. He was smiling widely, his lopsided grin appearing after days like the sun after a storm, and you loved the sight more than anything, locking it away in the back of your mind as a memory you'd keep forever, like the box that sat next to you.

You laid a hand on his chest, another on his cheek, and James grasped the one that was flattened on his chest in his own, quickly glancing down at your hand in his like he couldn't believe he was holding it. He pulled you into him with it and leaned his head on yours.

"It's always been you, too," you whispered, and his eyes glanced down at your lips as you said the quiet words that'd been lingering on your lips for much too long. You had to push away your smile because you were aching to just kiss him like you'd wanted to for years. With a courage that could've only come from Godric himself, you finally did.

You leaned in until your lips met, a flutter of skin dancing shyly together until you leaned into him even further, and suddenly it felt like the crash of a wave, and sounded like the earth was moving beneath your feet, the sound of something right—and this time, you knew it felt the same for him too, because you could feel his boyish grin that you'd spent years admiring tugging against your lips.

You were kissing your best friend. For real this time. It felt so impossible for your mind to imagine such a thing, but luckily it didn't have to.

James moved his hands but they never left you, one sliding through your hair smoothly and one delicately holding your waist like you were something fragile. Butterflies fluttered through you at his touch, something familiar but foreign, wrong but also right, and somessilyperfect. You couldn't believe you'd spent all those years just a few words away from getting to feel it, getting to be surrounded by it.

You pulled away after a moment, your lips feeling puffy and burning with the heat of his kiss, but all you could think about was how free you felt, how happy you were that he was finally yours.

James looked down at you, his eyes dancing all across your face and stopping on your lips, and then somehow growing even warmer when they met yours again.

"I can't-" he began with a slight disbelieving shake of his head, voice coming out breathless and dazed as heat flushed into your own cheeks at the sight. "I can't believe..."

You laughed, feeling out of breath too, and adjusted the glasses that now perched crookedly on James's nose in an agonizingly cute way.

"Me neither," you finished for him, because you knew just how he felt, a secret the both of you shared; it was the only secret you still wanted to keep.

And it was a feeling you never wanted to have to live without again. Though now, with him in your arms and his familiar chocolate curls still brushing against your forehead, you knew you would never have to.

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The Prince of Ninjago was a man on a mission. Every morning since his conversation with his cousin, he would rise earlier than everyone inside the castle and make his way to the bakery. 

And every time he did, there were no lights on. And there was no smell of treats or bread being baked. 

He would wait for the bakery to open, but [Name] would not be the one opening it.  It would be her adoptive father. And of course, Lloyd could always ask Jeremiah where [Name] is or if she is feeling well, but he just has not. Why has the Prince lost courage? Was he not a man on a mission? 

The Prince sighs, putting his hood up as he walks towards the forest. He misses her. He misses her greatly-The Prince looks up, tilting his head to the left before turning to the right. She is close. Very close. 

He is very accustomed to her smell. She smells like flour and honey sugar. Not that flour has a specific smell, but if it did, it would smell like her. 

Lloyd’s ears prick up as he hears her grunt before falling onto the grass?

He slowly walks over to where he can hear her, hiding behind a tree. He peaks his head out from the side, smiling as he watches her pet a small bird. Her skirts are lush against the green grass, her [hair/hijab] decorated with sunflowers. His favourite type of flower. 

His pupils dilate as his heart speeds up. She is the person he wants to marry. He does not want anyone else the way he wants her. He cannot live without her. There has been proof that. 

"I tried rather hard to place up back upon the branch," she tells the bird. "But I do fear that I do not have the height for it…also, I am not quite that capable." Lloyd furrows his eyebrows. She is capable of everything she wishes for. The bird chirps, snuggling into her hands which makes [Name] laugh. "You are quite cute. The green in your feathers…"  

They remind her of him. His eyes. Those eyes that always glinted with mischief. And he always made her laugh. And he is kind. She sighs, closing her eyes. 

Oh, Montgomery. No-the prince. No! The future King. [Name] shakes her head, placing the bird on her shoulders. The future King. She has fallen in love with the future King! 

Out of everyone he could have been. He could have been a poet, a swordsman, or a farmer. Anyone. He could have been anyone who is not direct royalty. 

"The life we could have had…" she mutters, closing her eyes. "I shall tell you," she motions to the bird before getting up from her spot in the grass. "As I do not have a single soul to discuss this with," 

The bird chirps, settling nicely on [Name]’s shoulder. 

"I am in love with the future King of this Kingdom," Lloyd lets out a sound from his throat before covering his mouth with haste. [Name] turns, looking around the forest. What was that sound? "Is there another here?"

Why is he staying silent? This is the perfect time for him to speak. But he is rather curious of what she is going to tell the bird. 

"I supposed not…" [Name] shrugs, the green feathered bird letting out a chirp. "As I was saying, I am in love with the future King of this Kingdom!" she repeats, letting out a small squeal. A squeal of disbelief and slight joy of saying it aloud. She cannot mention a topic like this to her father. It could possibly sadden him. "However! He lied to me as I did not know of him being the Crown Prince. Shall I tell you how I found out?" The bird blinks at [Name] as she blinks back at it. "We happened upon a pond and he pulled me inside! Which I did not mind, but I saw his birth mark through the linen shirt," 

[Name] lets out a sigh; she did not even realise she was walking. And she still does not realise that Lloyd is following her. 

"The mark of the dragon is the mark of royalty in Ninjago," [Name] tells the bird. "And not a single person outside of the castle was aware of the future King’s appearance. I am uncertain as to why that was the case but I suppose that it is trivial to me as I am aware of what the-" [Name] pauses, Lloyd looking at in her concern. Why has her heartbeat sped up? Is she alright? "Oh great heavens, do they plan to kill me?"

Lloyd makes a face. What? Those are her thoughts?

"It is possible," she mutters, but he can hear her quite clearly. "I have been escaping to this forest, I do not even have recollection of what is happening in the kingdom. What if my face has been scattered across the kingdom and guards have been in search for my person,"

Lloyd scrunches up his face. Those are her thoughts?!

"We must escape," [Name] taps her feet against the ground. "Well, I supposed not you," The baker motions to the bird, looking upwards. "But I must…I do not wish to complicate his life and I-"

"You could never complicate my life," Lloyd tells her, putting himself in her view. The girl screeches at the suddenness, the bird flying away from her shoulder. 

[Name] looks at Lloyd with wide eyes before realising that it is, in fact, the Prince. 

"Your highness," she goes to bow but Lloyd stops her. She does not need to bow. Not him. She looks up at him and his entire being softens at being close to her. "I must bow. You are royalty,"

"I do not wish for you to bow to me, Sweets," he tells her softly, taking her hand. "I am quite certain I should be bowing to you,"

"Why would you do that, Your High-"

"That is not my name to you,"

"I shall call you whatever you wish for me to call you, Your Highness," 

Lloyd sighs, closing his eyes. He rubs his thumb over hers, soothing her more than he is soothing himself. Why has her personality-well, he understands why. She is scared. Not him. But of the situation. 

"Sweets," he tugs her closer to him and he can see her eyes go wide, as they search his face. Her eyes could not even compare to diamonds. They are far more beautiful. "Do you trust me?"

"I…" [Name] falters slightly, Lloyd watching her. Trust? Does she trust the person who allowed her to have more laughs than anyone else would? Does she trust the person who always got her everything she needed without her even needing to say it? Does she trust the person who makes her body relax without her forcing it? "Yes,"

Lloyd moves the branches out of [Name]’s face, the girl ducking so she can see the lake? Why have they happened upon the lake? The cause of all of this. 

She steps closer, peering down at it. Has it been that long since she has seen it? There are lily pads growing now. 

"Why have we-" [Name] feels a hand push her forward and she lands into the land with a splash. She huffs, rising to the top as she wipes the lake water away from her eyes. "Montgomery?! You rake! What possibly could be your reasoning for this?! Once I…" she trails off as Lloyd begins to laugh which makes her laugh too. 

Why was she being so rigid with the person who teased her with no end?

The Prince takes off his cloaking, sitting down near the bank before sliding into the water. He swims over to her, putting his damp hands on her cheeks. [Name] places her hands over his, giving him a small smile. 

"I love you," he whispers with a smile, his fangs being shown slightly. "And I will love you the rest of my life. I only care for you. You own my heart, Sweets. I do not care that we are from different worlds. If you are truly that scared, we may escape together and never look-,"

"No!" [Name] laughs. "I am…it is alright. I wish too…I wish to be with you for my entirety,"

He smiles, placing his head against hers. [Name]’s eyes flutter close as she smiles too. Wait a moment. 

"How long were you listening to me for?" [Name] starts, her eye brows furrowing. "You heard me mutter that I wish to escape! You-"

"Do not try and ruin the moment, Sweets,"